The Darkest Skies
by DeathsScarletSecret
Summary: My name is Hal Mason. I am sixteen years old, I think, and my birthday is April 17th. I do not know what day it is today, but I was taken August 5th and since then I have managed to escape captivity. Captivity of what, you may ask? Captivity of a brutal, unforgiving race of otherworldly creatures; or aliens, as they're also known as.
1. Escape From Hell

**A/N - Hey there. I've never written for Falling Skies before, but I hope you like this. The start is kind of like a journal entry, but this will be one of the few times you'll see one. I hope you enjoy! Constructive criticism welcome! This is just a Prologue by the way. If you like there's more to come.**

**Disclaimers: I do not own Falling Skies, nor any of the characters in it except for ones I've made myself.**

**Warning: A bit gruesome at parts, but the show is kind of gruesome too, so it shouldn't be too bad.**

**The Darkest Skies**

**Escape From Hell**

_My name is Hal Mason. I am sixteen years old, I think, and my birthday is April 17th. I do not know what day it is today, but I was taken August 5th and since then I have managed to escape captivity. Captivity of what, you may ask? Captivity of a brutal, unforgiving race of otherworldly creatures; or aliens, as they're also known as. _

_Once upon a time, I was a jock. I had a stay-home mother, who people often tell me I look alike, and a kind, if not a bit odd, father. My mother was sugar-sweet; she understood me like no other and I loved her. My father and I were never close. He liked books and I liked the thrill of the game. He nagged me about my grades, which were never great, and at night after I had gone to bed I could hear him telling my mother that I needed to spend more time studying instead of playing 'stupid sports'. My mother always defended me, and I never forgot. _

_I had two brothers; both younger. Matt was the littlest at eight years old. I can remember celebrating his last birthday on the road. He's always been the baby of the family. Everyone tries to shield him much to his chagrin, myself included. I would have died for him. Ben was older than Matt at fifteen. Only a year or so separates us, and because of that we've never really gotten along. We fight like cats and dogs. When I was younger, sometimes, I use to think I hated him. He got dads approval, and love, and adoration. But I loved him, like I loved the rest of my family, it was just harder to see at times. But then the Skitters took him, and I had never felt so helpless. When he came back, he wasn't the same brother who had left. He was harder, and cold. He was angry._

_My mother is dead now, and I have no one left to confide in. My father, and my two brothers could very well have been slain. I haven't seen them since I was taken. In fact, I've seen very few. The thought of them dead kills me a little bit every day, but the chance that they're alive keeps me going through the pain. _

_Connar is dead. I woke up two weeks ago, and he was next to me. He didn't look peaceful, like Jimmy. His guts were torn out, and blood flooded over his chin. His leg was twisted backwards, and one arm was barely attached by strings of muscle. His face was bloody, bruised, and unrecognizable, and one eye was torn from its socket. He looked anything but at peace. _

_For five days I stayed by his cold, broken body. I couldn't bare to leave, and abandon his corpse. He wouldn't have left me. He wouldn't have let me die to begin with. I cried until tears would no longer come, and then I sobbed without being able to cry. He's all I had, he loved me. He's gone now._

_I still can't figure out how I was spared. I wasn't harnessed, and barely attacked. My head bled for a while, and my entire back was an illustration of purple, blue and black but I'm alive._

_I haven't seen a soul in two months. That would have been fine since survivors don't exactly announce their whereabouts in blinking neon signs, but what's worse is I haven't seen an alien in two months, either. I've been walking, and walking for miles on end, and nothing. Not a bird in the sky or a Skitter crawling about. No Mech's sirens blaring, or shots ringing out. _

_Am I all thats left? Are the Skitters, and Fishheads and Mech's still alive? Still on earth?_

_Then I met Nala. It's not a great name for a dog but I couldn't come up with a better one. She's beautiful, and she looks like a gorgeous German Shepherd, only her fur isn't fluffy and stiff like a German Shepherd's, but soft, long and with a slight curl. It doesn't stick up from her, but flattens down like a Golden Retriever's. She's brown with black speckled into her back and tail. Her eyes are a deep, hazel brown and she's the prettiest dog I have ever seen. I love her. _

_She hasn't left yet, and at night she curls against me. She's the only reason I survived the winter. When I had a motorcycle back a while ago, before I ran out of gas and couldn't scavenge any more, I had to lie her across my lap and she snuggled into me. We share any food we find, and she has my back like nobody has in a long time. _

_I would almost think I imagined the entire invasion, and that the aliens had never really come, if it wasn't for the fact that every time I take my shirt off, I see what they left behind. Each scar is a reminder to my captivity, and the torture I endured. They are real. They are out there. I won't stop until they're all dead. _

_Finding the 2nd Massachusetts is my only goal now. Staying alive is a necessity. I no longer want to find people, or aliens. It'll only put my goal at risk. All I need is Nala, and together we'll get back home. I'm positive the 2nd Massachusetts is still going; still resisting. _

_I will find them, for better or worse._

_My name is Hal Mason. I am a survivor._

FSFSFSFSFSFS

Really, Pope doesn't know how it came to this. He's a lone wolf, some might say. He works outside the law and he gets the job done; the job being kicking these mother-fucking alien's asses. But back on topic, he doesn't care about others. Not really. He does what he does for _numero uno_, and when he takes out revenge, it has to be him pulling the trigger, or else the success won't be nearly as sweet. That being said, he's not afraid to get his hands dirty every now and again.

But this goes beyond getting his hands dirty. He doesn't even know why he did it. He can tell himself it's to kill as many Cooties as possible, but he went out of his way for this one.

And now he has a kid under his protection, and he doesn't like that.

When he recognized that shock of black hair, those angular features and that voice, screaming, he just reacted. Months of working with the kid had him use to taking shots to keep Cooties off his back, but he had left the group just over two weeks ago, and the kid hasn't been seen in nearly five months.

The kid went down. Turns out, he was sick as a dog. His face was flush with fever and the hoarse cough that ripped from his throat made Pope's own lungs burn at the sound. So Pope grabbed him, hiking his way too light to be healthy body over his shoulder, and took off to the camp he made for himself.

He noticed the mutt following him, but paid it no mind; it was with the kid. He saw the dog snarling at one of the Cooties, standing protectively before the slumped kid. The dog, however, would get no food off him if that's what it was thinking. Like he said, _numero uno. _

He doesn't know why he took care of the kid, either. The guy has presumably been with the Cooties and their master's for the past few months, and there's no telling what damage has been inflicted on his mind, never mind his body. For all Pope knows, he's been brainwashed and is leading the Cooties right to him.

And for some reason, still, he doesn't leave.

"Let them come." He tells the dog between large chomps of canned pears. The mutt tilts its head, sniffs at the air and edges in closer to the kids side. "I'll kill 'em all!"


	2. The Ones Who Hide

**Hello there, my amazing readers. I wanted to send out a great thanks to all that took the time to read my story, and I thank anyone who reviewed. I honestly didn't expect to get that many reviews, but thanks so much! Anyways, I really hope this chapter isn't a letdown. (If I'm honest, I though no-one would like the story and wasn't expecting to continue). So I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, and thanks again for reading! Also I'm sorry for the late update, my internet was down!**

**Disclaimers: I do not own Falling Skies, nor any of the characters in it except for ones I've made myself.**

**Warning: A bit gruesome at parts, but the show is kind of gruesome too, so it shouldn't be too bad. Also a good deal of swearing, beware!**

**The Darkest Skies**

**The Ones Who Hide**

**"Those things which are precious are saved only by sacrifice." - David Kenyon**

When Hal began to come to and the darkness that had swallowed him started to fade, he found a small, warm body pressed snug against his side. A hint of a smile graced his lips as he blindly raised a hand to run his fingers through the familiar silky fur he found there.

His head pounded in the same fashion it did a year ago when he stole a bottle of vodka from his parents stash (his father liked a Cape Cod every now and then) and shared it with his friends over the campfire they made on their annual camping excursion. Now, he's faced with the same mind boggling effects. He can't remember where he is, or how he got there, and he aches all over like he just finished being a human bowling pin. Nudging idly through his thoughts, he can't get past the throb of memories as to his last whereabouts, and frankly, the sweet calm he finds between eased sleep and dusky wakefulness is too safe to abandon.

However, as he long ago learned, all good things come to an end. A breath taken too deep sent pain spiking through his throat as the icy air burned its way down, and it felt as if he'd eaten glass for breakfast. A wet cough ripped from his lips as his body convulsed. The warmth nestled at his side disappeared, and the soft fur slipped from between his fingers.

"Hey, hey! Short breaths. Take short breaths!" A very unexpected, unwelcome voice snapped. Hal shot right up, in shock and fear, and he scrambled backwards not unlike a crab shuffles along. This of course only increased his harsh breathing until he was panting for breath, and fear flooded through him. "Calm down!" The same voice growled.

The man was blurred, all dark clothes and pale features jumbled into a fuzzy painting. A sharp growling filtered through the background, and Nala, hackles raised, snarled with her lips curled back at the man. The voice, no matter how long it had been since he had last heard it, was aggravatingly familiar and the obscure image of the guy was too.

"Pope." Hal spat, which his throat immediately protested to, and his headache came back full force in a moment of vengeance. He was more shocked than angry, and a tiny bit terrified knowing how Pope was, and his view on anyone associated with the Fishheads. "Nala, it's okay. Come here." He called when the dog remained threatening.

"Don't try to sound grateful or anything." Pope hissed back, throwing another log onto the crackling fire. "I only saved your sorry ass."

"Saved my ass." Hal frowned, his brows knitting together. "I don't remembering needing saving."

"Oh, you did. Three cooties on your back and no bullets. If it weren't for me, you'd be as dead as those cooties I maimed." Pope could see the moments it all came back to the kid. His eyes turned to saucers against his pale face, and his forehead wrinkled in distaste.

Several minutes later Hal spoke up again, a determined set to his voice. "I could have taken them."

"That was obvious." Pope snarled back, his voice mocking. "I could sure see that in the way you cowered behind your mutt there."

The younger barked, "Her name's Nala, not mutt."

"Nala," Pope drawled. "That was the girly tiger in that kids movie, right?"

"She was a _lion, _in the _Lion King_." A pause where Hal observed the man through hazy eyes. Pope had his back to him, poking the fire with a long stick. His shoulders were tense, like a rattlesnake ready to spring and he was absolutely grimy, not that that was anything new in this world. "How'd you know?"

"My little girl use to watch that every Sunday morning. Up at seven am, sharp."

Hal smiled a little at the thought of Pope getting up every Sunday morning to watch Lion King. "When I was young, it was my favorite too. That's where I got the name. But then I got too old for 'stupid little kiddie movies', or so I thought, and I watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles instead."

"You hungry?" Pope queried, stuffing some beef-jerky into his mouth.

"Starving." Hal replied, his tummy growling at the thought of food. Then remorsefully, "But I don't think it'd stayed down."

Pope laughs, so hard he almost chokes on his jerky and proceeds to point at the boy with another long piece of the beef treat. "I've never seen a better imitation of a kicked dog. You should see your face, kid."

"It's Hal."

The laughter dies in Pope's throat, and he frowns. "If I cared about a name, I'd call you it. I don't."

Hal leans back into the grass, the green stems itching his neck and bare arms as he muddles over the man's strange mood swings; he can go from hysterical to nonchalant in seconds. He drags Nala's slight form over him, and she whines lowly as she moves to plot her head against his chest. "My brothers, and my father." Hal broaches a subject he isn't sure he wants the answer to. "Are they… alive?"

"Last time I saw 'em they were all breathing. Can't vogue for them any longer, though."

"How long ago was-"

"Two weeks." Pope snaps as he maliciously stabs the embers, bored with the conversation.

"Then they're probably still-"

"Don't get your hopes up, kid. Last I heard, the Fishheads were focusing in on that rag-tag group of survivors, and the news ain't ever gonna be good. A lot can happen in two weeks."

"A lot can happen in a day." Hal shoots back, "That doesn't mean something did." He turns his back to the fire, feeling the tongues of heat licking at his spine and warming him up minutely. Nala follows, curling into his chest.

Pope stabs the fire, tearing another jerky in half with his teeth. "Don't mean something didn't, either."

FSFSFSFSFSFS **Flashback**

_Days had passed, and Ben's condition only seemed to worsen. The spikes were growing, a thick layer of bubbly skin molding over his spine and curling around his shoulders. It was thick and hard, and when Hal ran his palms over it, he could feel it's lumpy texture. It terrified him. _

_And very unlike the man he pretended to be, he turned tail and hid. Dad could deal with it, was his synopsis. Unlike his younger brother, who turned to heights and ledges to dangle from for comfort, Hal preferred secluded burrows and corners to squeeze into and hole up until he managed to rally up whatever courage he could muster before facing down whatever problem plagued him. As a child, he'd even go as far as hiding himself in closets and toy-boxes, and even once in a large tree hallow. _

_There weren't many places to hide when an entire small community was holed up in one small Hospital, but Hal made do somehow. He snuck down to the basement where he entered a storage room and clambered into an old, rusted locker near the back. He stayed there for almost an entire day before none other than Matt found him._

_"Hal?" The boy softly whispered following the creek of the door. Soft footfalls pattered inside. "Hal, you here?"_

_Hal almost didn't want to respond; didn't want to face the rest of the day, but then the thought of his family, possibly worried and fretting about his whereabouts moved him. "I'm here, buddy." He called, pushing open the door. Matt plodded on forward, appearing among the piles of books, medicine and strange equipment. "What are you doing down here?"_

_"I was looking for you." Matt replied, placing his tiny hands against the break separating the bottom from the top locker. "Dad and Ben and Captain Weaver and Maggie went out lookin' for you in the woods, but I saw you come down here earlier, so I came down as well." _

_Hal nodded, slipping his arms between his brother's armpits and heaving him into the small space next to himself. Matt floundered, managing to send a few neatly placed kicks right into Hals stomach, but after much shuffling they were eventually both settled, feet dangling off the edge. _

_"Why are you down here, all alone."_

_Hal smiles gently, struggling to come up with a way of telling the truth without sounding like a complete wimp to his baby brother. In the end, he had nothing. "I was scared." _

_"Scared? But you're never scared. Ever." Right before his eyes, Hal sees a fire raging in the form of a small child. He pumps his fists, eyes flaring in faith and idealization; of him, a kid in every rights of the word as well. "I've seen you smashing Skitters heads like 'cshhhhhh' and shooting so fast, you're like 'pew, pew, pew pew pew' and you never miss!" Matts on his feet, hands flying as he plays out a fight scene Hal can't remember, but Matt obviously does vividly. He plomps back down like a rock in water, gazing up at his older brother. "You're never scared." Hal reads past the words to the real meaning, something all the brothers had to learn over time; __**I wanna be like you. **_

_"I'm scared now." Hal admits, somehow cracked open as easily as a walnut by a mere eight year old. His father, his brother, his doctor couldn't get a peep out of him, but somehow his youngest brother could with words of blind glorification and unwarranted trust. "And I'm gonna be scared tomorrow, and the day after, and the days after that." _

_"Why?" Matts eyes are wide as saucers, and looks so confident in his older brother it hurts. _

_Hal hesitates, terrified of speaking what's been playing on his mind. "Ben and I, we're going on a little trip and dad can't know about it; not until we get back." _

_"A trip?" Matt frowns, his bottom lip jutting into a pout of jealousy that Hal easily recognizes after years of helping to raise him, and often being on the tail end of said look. Hal sighs, already knowing what's going to be asked. "Can I come?"_

_"No, Matt." Guilt fills him at the scathing look in the boys eyes, almost resembling betrayal. "Not this time. This time, it's just me and Ben."_

_"Why!" Matt whines, eyes watering. Hal can't tell if he's just playing it up, or if his near teared state is real._

_Frustration grips Hal hard, more so at the unjust remorse pitting in his stomach. "I just- I have a few things I need to do, to help Ben, and you, and dad. And when I'm done, everything's going to be okay again. I- Big brother's gonna fix everything, okay."_

_Matt sniffles, nodding his head. "Okay."_

_Hal smiles softly, pulling his brother in close so Matt's head is pillowed in his chest. "I might be gone for a while, okay, Matt. I might be gone for a long while, but I'll come back, just like I always do. Dad and Ben and everyone will help, and I'll come back because I know they can save me. I believe in them." Hal thinks Matt might know more is going on that's flying right over his head, but the kid nods again. "You tell them I said that, okay, Mattie. Don't forget to tell them."_

_"I won't."_

_"But not until Ben gets back. You can tell them everything, then." _

_"Okay." _

_"Promise?" Hal whispers, wrapping his arms around his brother. He knows it'll be a while before he can hug his brother again; maybe longer than he'd like. But he meant what he said; he knows his dad will save him. Whatever happens tomorrow, dad will fix it, like he always does. And as long as Ben's safe, and on the mend, Hal doesn't care what shall befall him. This time, Matt can see past the spoken words to the deeper meaning; __**I'm sorry I'm not the hero you believed me to be. **_

_"Promise." Matt mumbles back, hooking his pinky in his brothers. __**You will always be my brother, and my hero.**_

_For a long while they stay there, oblivious to the world. It feels like when they were kids, and Matt would climb into his big brother's bed after a nightmare and they'd hide under the blankets together. If they ignore the outside world, the monsters won't be there any longer, or so Hal would tell his brother. _

_It doesn't matter that there are people looking for them, or that aliens have taken over most of the world. It doesn't matter that people die every day, and kids are taken to be mindless slaves. All that matters is them; hiding away from everything that can hurt them. _

_Together._

FSFSFSFSFSFS **End of Flashback**

When Hal began to awaken, this time it wasn't to the safe darkness that he had come to know in his past six months of travels having to wake up well before dawn, but to searing light. It stung and burnt his eyes, like someone was pouring scalding water over them. But the knowledge that the light could no longer sooth him and instead the mysterious darkness was his only comfort had a bitter sense of irony overcoming him until it felt like that's all that was left of him; sour coincidences and broken thoughts. He knew it wasn't like that, really. If you're exposed to light long enough eventually it begins to burn, and really he's making the day and night out to mean more than they do.

"Get up, you fucking lazy ass. We're burning daylight."

Hal groaned, still exhausted despite the hours of sleep he obtained and aching in places he didn't even know you could ache in. Through his muddled thoughts he found enough clarity to ponder upon Pope's savage words. More prominently, the use of 'we're'.

"We." Hal mumbled, rising onto his elbows and squinting above him to the towering figure.

"Yes. We. Meaning us, as in you and I. Here I thought daddy-dearest would teach his kids something useful, but it seems you're all brain-dead."

"Don't talk about my father like that! I _meant _you're crazy if you think I'm going anywhere with you. There is no 'we'"

Pope laughed. It was one of the many of laughs Hal realized Pope could manipulate. It was his mocking, 'you are a dumb-ass and therefore lower than me so shut the fuck up' laugh. "I just saved you after months of being AWOL. Since your innocence is still to be confirmed, I'm just gonna have to keep an eye on you. It's a great sacrifice on my part, but you aren't going anywhere unless it's somewhere only the dead can pass, or you prove your trustworthiness."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Hal repeated.

Pope seemed to be expecting this, and with a lazy smirk that spoke volumes of his superiority complex, he slid out a Colt M9 and smoothly clicked the safety back. "You're not getting much of a choice, kid. Here, you ain't your dad's son; you're fair game, and it just so happens the tree you were sniffing about was that of my enemies, and they ain't getting the upper hand on me." Pope dragged the kid to his feet, watching him stumble for a few second as he regained his balance with a sort of smug amusement. He then sunk his hands into the kids grimy blue shirt, yanking the kid close.

Hal scrunched his nose at the foul oder emitting from the man as Pope's breath ghosted against his cheek. He struggled on his toes for bearing as Pope hauled him close, and clawed at the hands holding him up. Pope snorted, another one of his noises Hal recognized as ridiculing. He shuddered back, shying away from the contact he didn't consent to. Up close, it was hard not to notice the shockingly deep olive eyes of the bumptious man and the ringlets of hazel riveting through them. The emerald specs splattered against their dim color, and the lighter patterns as the green met white.

"You listen to me, and you listen well. I'm in charge, and I'm the reason you're alive. The way I see it, you owe me your life. So you're gonna get on that bike, and we're gonna go for a little ride back the way you came. We're gonna give those Cooties a little wake-up call at the home-base they had you holed up in." Pope waved the gun about, running it through the boys chocolate hair and imprinting it against the kids temple. "If you're shitting me, you die. If you play me into a trap, your kid brother dies. If you run away, your whole family dies, and believe me kid, I can't wait to get my hands on your father's self-sacrificing ass. I won't hold back. Got it!" Pope growled with another shove of the gun.

Hal glared, the kind of glazed over gaze full of hate, and resentment, and a promise of revenge. His eyes were dark, and Pope laughed, shoving the kid to his ass in the dirt. "Got it?" He snickered, fixing the gun between the boy's two hazel eyes.

Pope had to kick the boy's heel, and ask again before Hal sneered "Got it," back. Pope chuckled, and turned his back on the kid like he's not even a threat. Hal fingered his gun lying next to the patch of grass he slept on in his pack, and remembered that he's all out of ammo. It doesn't matter, though, because the heavy weight against his palm reassured him, and he knows Pope will atone for his delusion of superiority.


	3. A Life For A Life

**Omg! Hey guys. Its been waaaaaaaay too long and I send my sincerest apologizes for the long wait. It took me two tries just to get the start, and lately I find myself experiencing a lack of inspiration. I've been working on this sparingly the past few months broken by spells of vigorous motivation to finish, and finally I have sat myself down a day in peace and silence, and forced myself to continue accompanied by random songs on Pandora. Now I am truly sorry for the wait, and I can't tell you how long the next will be but I hope I can find the motivation to write another very soon. **

**Now, all mistakes are my own. And feel free to point any out. Also constructive criticism is always welcome.**

**Disclaimers: I do not own Falling Skies, nor any of the characters in it except for ones I've made myself. I also don't own the song at the start which is Carry On by Fun. **

**Warning: A bit gruesome at parts, but the show is kind of gruesome too, so it shouldn't be too bad. Also a good deal of swearing, beware! **

**The Darkest Skies**

**A Life For A Life**

_**May your past be the sound,**_

_**Of you feet across the ground**_

_**Carry On**_

_I remember a time when weeks flew by; heck, years zoomed by like a movie stuck on fast-forward. It had felt like nothing; time, that is. Four weeks. One month. Such small, trivial numbers in the bigger picture of decades and centuries. I use to wake to the morning sun seeping through my blinds, and the tempered beat of my alarm, and before I knew a thing, I'd be slipping beneath the covers within the darkness of night, oft times slipping out through my window to do things my parents wouldn't be proud to learn of. Or, parent, that is. As in one._

_Now, though, each second is a gun shot, the backlash of my gun against my shoulder, an impending bullet ricocheting inches from my head, one shot blowing dust into my eye, one more chance at life. Each minute is a dash to my lifeline, a series of heaving breaths as legs pump like a well-oiled machine across concrete, a multitude of jarring steps to cover, a hand reaching towards mine, pulling me up, covering my back. Each sixth of an hour is ten minutes of racing away, of a triumph, of heavier bags and gratitude. Each half an hour is a win, a conquest, filled with sore bones and band-aids, and often much more serious medical items. And each hour is another bitter shot drained down, burning liquid easing aching bones by the glass, stomachs filled with grub and souls full of delusional, alcohol induces hope. _

_Each day, though. Each day is another gift. For every sunrise, and sunset seen is a message of victory that cannot be ignored. A sign to the infiltrators that this race is one that fights, and one that never backs down. _

_Time has different meaning now, and as such, has a different passing. The sun's position is how I tell time, the moons shape is how I tell dates. No longer do Mondays, Fridays or Sundays matter. There is no need for March, August or April. Summer, Fall, Spring and Winter have no meaning, except for how much clothes we need to wear and how much food we need to stock. TIme is survival, and each second is another success. _

_These four weeks, however, spent in Pope's company, have felt like years. _

FSFSFSFSFSFS

_3 Weeks Later_

"Pope! Incoming; five Cooties on our backs." Pope heeds the call, and turns to see a dust encrusted teenager steadily pulling back the trigger on a double-barrel shotgun as Skitters fall from building sides and the tops of cars as they lunge. The man swiftly turns back to his own targets, taking down three Cooties at once in three smooth shots. Its useless, though, because for every spider like alien that falls to the dirt at his feet, where these mother fucking creatures belong, another three take its place.

Hal seems to be catching on to the same prevalence, and edges back to their car loaded with food and other necessities without even faltering in shooting at the aliens after them. Its a pattern he's accustomed to, a system only a year or two ago that would have been snorted at in ignorance. But lacrosse and its techniques, which once he could rhyme off in his sleep have been replaced with the knowledge of how to empty and reload a clip, and how to properly clean your gun, and what food gives you energy to fight, and what will get you killed.

Pope rubs at the sweat dripping into his eyes, and drags the stubborn strands of hair from sticking to his forehead. "You ready to rock, kid?" He shouts through heaves of breath and doesn't wait for an answer before knocking down five more Cooties and diving for the drivers side of the Chevy truck. He jerks the car out of park to peel back, nearly hitting the brunette teen in his haste. He watches through the rear-view mirror, and waits for Hal to jump the rims of the truck bed before slamming the gas.

Hal slams against the back hitch, his shoulder burning from the impact as wind whips his clothes so violently he can hear them crackling. He can feel Pope building speed, taking a corner so sharply the tail edge drags against a shop wall and tears the right-side's break-lights off. He peaks over the lip of the truck bed, and braces his legs to push back so he has room to slip his gun barrel over the edge. He lines his eye up with the focus and takes out the nearest skitter. Two more follow the first, and the rest are steadily disappearing as they gain ground.

The boy lies down against the thick wool blanket spread along the bed, and watches the sky pass with a toothy grin strewn across his pale face. A bruise darkens against a hazel eye, and the jagged cut still seeping blood above his eyebrow aches something fierce but the fact that they're alive, and they hit gold before the aliens showed up proves a pretty good distraction from the pain. He drags over an overflowing bag, and pulls out a can of Arizona and bites into a creamy chocolate bar that's sell by date hasn't yet passed. It tastes like heaven, probably because it's the only thing left in this world that can even come close.

Laughter bubbles against his throat, and Pope rolls down his window to shout out something that sounds a lot like 'toss me a beer' but his words are stolen by the wind snapping past, so Hal throws him two through the small back window, and spread out on his back again to grin at the pastel blue sky.

Life ain't so bad on the run with a temperamental ex-convict. At least guys like that know how to have fun.

FSFSFSFSFSFS

_It came as a bit of a surprise to Pope, the first time he saw the kid; like, really _saw _him. He almost forgot the kid had been held captive by the Cooties and the slimy halfwits they christened 'leader'. He had met all kinds of people in his line of work. His world was filled with broken people, both physically and mentally, strewn together with a similar mindset born from lives of kind struggle. _

_His people lived glorious, and ghastly lives. They reveled, they died, and in mist the shattered pieces of their life, they were reborn. Often not the same as before, maybe only half of a real person, but that was okay because they relied on each other to make up for the missing pieces. _

_It took a while for Pope to realize, but once he did it was blatantly obvious. Hal was one of _them_. Although Pope isn't exactly sure what killed the kid, he sure as hell knows what brought him back to life. _

_Each scar tells it own story, and Pope almost thinks he might not want to listen to this tale._

FSFSFSFSFSFS

_Two Days Later_

They're soaked to the bone and no amount of jackets will ease their erratic shivering. Hal shrugs out of his large winter coat, his shoulder aching something awful and he has Pope to blame. It was the scavengers fault for raising up a commotion and drawing the enemies to them. They were forced to slip beneath the icy cover of a nearby lake, retreating within its veil of darkness.

Nala was causing a thunderous ruckus with her uncoordinated doggy paddling and Hal was forced to restrain her and swim them both to the opposite side of the lake while Pope lugged their waterlogged bags through the marshy water. It took a long stretch of stumbling, toe stubbing and discreetly huddling a titch closer for warmth before they reached a safe cavern in a rocky cliff to haul in for the night.

Pope's already changed into dry, warm clothes while Hal fetched some wood for kindle, and Hal is raging in jealousy. The man in fairness did go about lighting the fire, which took two tries as Nala doused the first spitfire flames with a good old shake of the fur sending water-speckles flying.

The air is heavy with the dense of wet dog fur, and Hal peals off his soaked shirt, revealing pale skin and too much bone with not nearly enough fat or muscle. Pope can't help but watch as inch by inch more pale porcelain skin is revealed. He doesn't have the hots for the kid; in no way would he ever, but with every expanse of skin, is the varies thick and thin lines marring it. It's simply a curiosity thing.

The fire's light makes it more oppressive and dark. The shadows flickering across his chest make for a hideous picture. Some are long and thin, others deep and jagged. Most of them leave raised skin or rough chunks of missing flesh, and a few are still red as if only just healed. There's a particularly nasty bump over his appendix that looks recent, and painful.

Sometimes Pope feels the questions burning in the back of his throat like an uncomfortable lump, but most nights he can push them back down. Tonight is not one of those nights.

"Where'd you get all those scars, kid?" Pope queries, fisting an old shirt and tossing it at the kid to dry off a bit.

Hal barely sends him a second glance, struggling out of his clingy jeans that burn and itch as they rub down and off his legs. Pope adverts his eyes when the boxers come off, giving the kid a semblance of privacy seeing as they've been basically living out of each others shoes the past couple weeks.

He's about to give up on the chance of an answer when the boy's soft voice comes out rough and strained, and weary. "Where do you think?" There was a certain amount of snark to that which Pope chose to ignore on the basis that it was pretty obvious.

"You're what? Eighteen? Where's the harness?"

Hal falls back on his ass and curl towards the fire, Nala coming to cuddle close."Didn't get one, and I'm seventeen now, I think."

Pope smirks and he sets his gaze upon the line of trees surrounding them for any danger. "What makes you so special." A single eyebrow arches. He drops the comment like an offhanded remark, but honestly he's remarkably intrigued.

"Special," Hal spits, and laughs. The way the kid hurls it out makes Pope turn, and all he sees is venom and hate sprung up tight like a rattlesnake waiting to pounce. "If you call being tortured like you're a worthless piece of trash with no one looking for them 'special', than yea, I'm fucking special. The most rare and exotic of them all."

The kid has finally opened his mouth to sing, and Pope isn't missing a word he says.

"When I made the deal, I had expected a harness. I didn't care what came of me." Over the sweltering flames, Pope stares hard into the kids dark eyes. Many kids now-a-days are all about dark shit like cutting and depression, which were rare in his era as a child, and he finds it astonishingly foolish. They spout words of detached nature like they drink soda, but it's all bull when it comes down to it and then they're shitting their pants. It's different this time.

War has hardened Hal, like no child should be. And Pope knows Hal _is _a child, no matter what his daddy or peers think. When the words leave Hals mouth, they sound like a motto, but more-so, they sound like the words of reassurance the kid has been convincing himself this entire time to help heal raw wounds. "You should. You can only ever depend on yourself." Because the kid is being so honest with him, Pope gives out his own motto, that he doesn't follow as well as he'd like.

"You had an older brother, right? Well I am the oldest, and you can never understand how it feels like to see the younger sibling you have protected through thick and thin experience such pain. I beat up the bullies who tormented my brother, I defended him when he did something wrong, and often took the blame for him. Sure, because we're so close in age we fought a lot, but mom had told me it was my job to protect him and I did! I failed with her. She was my mother. I saw the blood seep from her body as the Skitter sliced through her windpipe, and I wouldn't fail my brother. _I couldn't!" _Tears of frustration well up in his dark orbs, and the flames catch causing them to reflect yellow and orange. His voice is strained, but the emotion that's in it cause a roughness that strikes Pope to the core. He can almost feel the others pain conveyed through it.

"So I gave myself up, like I know my mother would have been proud of. Ben's spikes were extracted, and I was now their prisoner. They giving me a harness would have been mercy. Months I suffered, chained in that horrid cell. The only times I escaped those repressing walls, was when they would drag me out by the chain around my neck, and tie me down on a metal slab, where they would poke me and stab me, and cut me open. Sometimes I would fall to the brink of death, and those _sons of bitches _would bring me back. I would have rather died."The Kid needs a moment to gather himself, and Pope can only sit there in stunned silence from what he's now learned. He had suspected on some level a form of abuse, but downright torture. _Experimenting; _it's just inhumane, even for foreign kinds.

It's apparent Hal's not done though, for he wraps his thin arms around Nala's chest, and tugs her close before continuing on in a soft, cautious voice. "They, they put things _in me." _Hal speaks in utter disgust, and Pope tenses at the words. A possible tracking device? Are they being watched.

Does he need to kill the kid?

"Some of the stuff was weird, like liquids. Sometimes they'd cut me open and document my anatomy. One of the things was like a chip you'd but in a dog, the other two bugs. Sometimes the pain would be so intense, I'd die before they got around to reviving me. I think they were testing what the human body could take."

The only thing Pope can get out is, "You have chips in you? Right now?" Maybe it's shallow, but he doesn't give a shit.

"No." Hal breathes, harsh. "One week after escaping, I took a blade to my side, under my ribs where I know they put it. I had to stick my hand in the slit I made, and navigate through blood and muscle until I found it. From what I could feel, my muscle had begun to attach around it, and grow off it… some of the meat on it was hard, and almost like metal. I think it was growing in my body. I tore it out. Nearly died from blood lose, then infection. I sure as hell wouldn't have cared then, either."

"How'd you survive." The stories like an addiction, and Pope doesn't want to miss a single hit.

"A guy found me. He was a medical student before the invasion, and he saved my life. More than once, and in more than one way. I was broken. Didn't care about living. He wouldn't let me go out on my own, followed me around until I finally accepted him. Two weeks later, after a violent nightmare woke me, I went after one of the bugs. They dug deeper the closer I got, and it wasn't easy digging for it when it was located on my shoulder-blade. He found me half-way through, and when I swore I'd kill myself if it didn't come out, he grabbed a pair of tweezers and finally found it. A week later, we found a hospital where he gave me an x-ray because it had a back-up generator and found the last one, and he preformed a safer surgery to get it out."

"How do you know there are no more?" Pope questions, honestly curious.

Hal glances up, nervous, as if he expects Pope might take a gun to his head. "The X-ray. He found nothing else. Well, at least no more bugs."

An uneasy feeling rises in the pit of Pope's stomach. He doesn't want to know, he really doesn't but he has to ask. "What did you find, if they weren't chips or bugs?"

Hal shivers, and curls up on himself even more as if that will protect him from what happened in the past. "Those _monsters _took out some of my organs, one set of ribs, and the odd bone, and replaced them with alien technology and metals. They connected them up to my arteries, and veins, and other bones so that they worked as the actual organs should. Even in one of my eyes, they added some kind of technology. I no longer see in color in that eye, but my eyesight is far better, and sometimes I see odd things. I wanted them out, all of it, but doing so would kill me even if we had the correct donors. But theres some kind of timer on them all, and the only reason I can think of for one-" Hal cuts himself off, too disgusted and horrified.

Pope feels queasy, and wouldn't be surprised if he upchucks the little he's eaten. "The only reason for a timer, is to set off the bomb for when if finally expires."

"Not only that, but the one person who can diffuse it is the one who set it up, and I killed her escaping. I shoved a scalpel under her chin, and through her brain... I killed Karin."

FSFSFSFSFSFS

_Hal pants, chest heaving as he drags his little brother through the woods. Roots catch around his ankles and send him nearly sprawling to the forest floor in the darkness that encases them. It's a struggle the entire way with the weight of his younger brother who really needs to cut back on the carbs, but it's a necessary trip._

_The duo enter the clearing, one aware the other not, and the moon finally sheds some light on their surroundings. Tall trees surround them on most sides, except for the edge that is a steep, rocky cliff. Vines hang loose from the tree branches, and leaves scatter the ground. _

_Across from the two brothers is a large metal monster, whose blinding headlight brightens Hal the second it lands on him before it shifts away. A skitter clicks to itself quietly, rubbing its claws together and dancing around like a kid with ADD. And finally, a girl with long blond hair and glowing spikes along her back with eyes so dead, Hal can barely remember the time he once found cherished light in them. _

_"Karen!" He calls, drawing closer. "I'm here as promised. I hope you have held your end of the deal, because I see nothing which would indicate so."_

_The girl smiles, and Hal shudders at the thought that what is now harsh and cruel he once found loving. "Hal, my darling." She croons. "You are not as bright as I thought. It seems your father was right when he spoke of Ben as the sharpest of you two. I am slightly disappointed by your naivety." She draws closer in a confident stride, as if Hal is no threat, and her to goons follow. "I was only being smart that I took into account you can never trust the enemy, and because I had no proof that you would show, I brought nothing to hold up my end of the deal." _

_"But I did show, and I expect for our agreement to be followed through with." Hal growls, setting his brother down against a tree, which the boy sinks against like a rag doll._

_"You did indeed!" She claps, as if he were a child who has done a simple dance. "But you have overestimated the honesty of your adversary. Why should I follow our bargain, if I can simply take both ends of the deal without dropping a sweat. You are outnumbered, honey, and I can have both you and Ben now. You''ll see, it's for the best."_

_Hal smirks, having expected this. "Im not as stupid as you think, bitch." Karin flinches at the insult, but the harness has dulled her passion as she merely shrugs it off. This is why he came, so his brother doesn't also become like she, nor will he be changed into a Skitter by his old harness. "I came here well before dawn this morning, and rigged up a little trap. Look above you." She does so, barely an upset frown gracing her lips, and her lack of complete emotion annoys Hal. The boy grabs the vine hanging by his hand, and grins. "I purposely stayed by the edge of the clearing because I knew you'd draw closer. Once I pull this ever so slightly, the Zippo lighter will light and set off the sticks of dynamite, which will then fall once I pull a tiny bit harder, and land at your feet. Now, I know it sounds like a long process, but it only takes 1.5 seconds for this all to be executed. You can shoot if you want, but I know you want me alive and the sound of the explosion will only set off the Second Mass. as well as kill you." _

_"You little cheater!" Karin snarls, upset things have turned on her. "You dirty little sneak!" But then she smiles, a whirlwind of emotion. "This is why they like you Hal. The Overlords see how brilliant you are, just as I do. You can work with them, and they will fulfill your every dream! Forget your family, forget Ben!"_

_Hal frowns, angry. "My family are everything I need, and they're my only dream. Now you get this thing off him, and you do it now!"_

_"You idiot! Do you actually think we can get it off. It's impossible! It's hopeless. I can't believe you fell for such a fib." She laughs mockingly, but Hal can see the lie in her words. She's too rushed to try and cover up for her mistakes._

_Hal steps back, glaring viciously. "You're lying. You have ten seconds to tell me you'll do it, or I'll blow you up." He tightens his hand threateningly around the vine before beginning to count down. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three," He begins to emphasize the numbers, slowing down slightly. "Two, O-" _

_"Alright!" Karin squawks. She smooths down her skirt. "Alright, Hal-darling. You win. We'll take those nasty spikes off your brother, but I hope you know you're ruining his life. He could have been something great! But now that we've settled on this, you must keep your end. You're coming with us."_

_"That's fine, but I'm not budging until those things are off him, and I bring him to the outskirts of out camp where one of the night guards will stumble upon him."_

_"Yes. Yes. Whatever." Karin turns to the Skitter, and they seem to communicate in some way for the Skitter crawls closer. Hal tenses, but it merely goes to his brother._

_"If it hurts him in any way, I'll blow you up!" Hal threatens, on edge because he understands nothing of the aliens and they could be poisoning his brother or worse for all he knows. _

_Karin smiles at him placidly. "We must first send a Bug creature under his skin to take out the remaining spikes before they'll come out. It will be painful, but there is no other way and at the very least it is a quick process."_

_The Bug, which looks like a metal spider, digs under the skin by his brothers shoulder. Ben groans, and slumps forward and Hal can see the creeper moving under his brothers skin, a raised bump that grossly moves in a way nothing should in the human body. The skitter pulls up the shirt, and Hal can't decided whether it's a good or bad thing. It starts at the bottom, and Ben lets out a small groan-scream noise. The spike seems loose, and the skitter reaches down and yanks it out, leaving a small seeping circle of blood. It continues on, and at each spike his screams get louder and louder until he's screeching in agony._

_Hal can't stand it; wants his brothers pain to end but he knows that it'll all get better once this is over. Karin didn't lie, it barely reaches two minutes before it's all over. Then Hal is dragging his brother through the woods, but in the future all he'll remember is wet blood staining his palm, the slimy substance making his brother slip from his wavering grip, racing through the woods for Karin told him he had ten minutes before they took him away indefinitely, and a single tear slipping down his cheek as he runs a bloody hand down his brothers cheek and bidding him a short goodbye not far from the approaching footsteps of a guard, then sinking into the darkness, and in the arms of the enemy where he unknowingly will suffer a pain he never dreamed._

FSFSFSFSFSFS

**Well guys, hope this was a good chapter and lived up to your expectations. If you liked, feel free to leave a comment; it'll be much appreciated. By the way, this is the final chapter before we meet the rest of the Second Mass. **


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